Adios, Amigos
by Pollux Unbound
Summary: Grimmjow writes a farewell letter simply because he's had enough of Aizen, Espada, and Las Noches. Finally, he decides to quit Hueco Mundo. Here is his letter. One-shot. Implied GrimmIchi and GrimmUlqui


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does.

**Note**: Edited due to the revelations of Espada rankings.

To you, you, you...and you:

_Aizen-sama_. First of all, screw your stupid ambitions, your godly aspirations, your ass-kissing minions and, above all, screw you. Yep, you read that right. I've had enough of your pretense, your orders, and your Jerkology. Goodbye and please die. The only thing I'll possibly miss about you is your…alright, I'll cut the bullshit; nothing, so I'm off.

_Tousen. _Before anything else, allow me to inform you that I harbor no hard feelings against you. I wasn't pissed when you demonstrated the extent of your joy-killing passion on the night Shao Long and the others got killed at my expense (though if you'd let me explain, it was all D-Roy's fault!); not when you went ratting about it to Aizen-sama, and most certainly not when you fucking amputated my precious arm. I'm cool, you're cool, so we're cool, alright? Having said that, I hope you wouldn't develop the slightest contempt toward me and my actions once you learned that your tea (the one they served you one hour ago) was spiked with arsenic. Yeah, I'm quite sure you wouldn't mind; like, hell, you're most likely already six feet under by the time this letter gets to you and therefore too busy biting dust to give a damn. So, now that you've finally attained absolute peace, there will be no need to thank me. Bless your soul. PS: I dunno about justice though.

_Gin_. I don't know who you are and I swear as Aizen-sama is my witness that I'd be the last person to be inclined to care. But I wish you'd do me the favor of eradicating your foxy grinning face off my memory. Whether ya want it literally done, in which case you'd peel your face off your head, or otherwise is up to you, although I'd prefer the former. Truth is, you've contaminated my brilliant imagination with enough visions of the slits you call your eyes and that crack of menace, which happens to be your mouth, that I fear I've actually and moronically forgotten how to sleep. On top of that, I can no longer trust myself to tell what's sexually arousing and what's sexually cringe-worthy, thanks to your...face. So, if it's not too much to ask for a parting gift, please behead yourself. After all, that's the least compensation I can receive, considering you've just about made me inclined toward something as hideous as... chastity.

_Yammy_. Diez Espada. You big bloke, don't be all teary-eyed when you read this. I never really got the chance to hang with you a lot. Beyond the exhibition of your antics and the weak results of the missions assigned to you, you know, those that come always short of satisfactory, at least for me, I have no fucking idea what you're good at, if you are indeed, good at anything. Of course, your habitual propensity of following the Pompous Prick (yes, I'm talking about Ulquiorra) like a faithful shadow is worth noting, but, er, what else is there, really? Well, let's not forget that you're a fat-ass. Has anyone ever cared enough to actually tell you? I have, obviously. Finally, that just about sums up the extents of my sentiments or my lack thereof. In either case, you can stop breathing any minute now.

Noveno Espada. _A'roniro Alulueri_. Lemme start by saying, you can gauge how much I value you by my fighting the urge to skip this dedication. This simply goes to show I'm really more thoughtful than all yah morons think. See, you ain't that forgettable after all! To cut to the chase, I happen to know you're seeking for a resolution, a really good and impressionable heralded turn of character. To achieve that, it may be a practical point to change your looks. I had it on good authority, if not exactly first-hand information, that you can morph your appearance to anything you wish. If you are still unable to glimpse the clean slate, it's actually as easy as being anything BUT yourself. Frankly, whatever it was that gave you the idea you're permitted to go around displaying yourself in public is beyond me or any standard of human logic. But then, again, pitching you up in the same category as humans would be a mighty offense against them. And I do not wish to offend them since I'm planning to... Well, moving on and just for you to be informed, your mask never really does its job. The short of it is, you ought to give up on life already, for the reason that it simply refuses to agree with you. Simple as that, and just fucking commit suicide already. Ciao.

Octava Espada. _Szayel Apollo Grantz_. The number of times you've had me victimized overrides all other qualities you have left for me to conceive. All I can come up with is that you are a friggin' pervert and you should leave any self-respecting individual alone, lest they dwindle into extinction. It's not the fact that every move you make is a dead-hit lewd invitation to bed that's bothering me. In fact, it's much simpler than that. My problem is the obvious fact that you are alive, breathing and walking. And since you're constantly, perhaps permanently, over-eager to bed anything that moves, why don' cha stuff yourself in a fucking coffin, instead? I suggest you go and treat yourself by taking your molesting propensities to new heights. If I may be warranted a proposal, a coffin offers up a vast selection of luxuries, like infinite privacy, thrill, unique environment, to name a few. Now, to solve my problem, which happens to be your existence, I entreat you to never forget to lock said coffin, once you're inside it, from the outside and swallow the fucking key, okay? And, oh, I almost forgot; you suck at laboratory works and at other countless shit. You even suck at sucking...dicks in particular. But I'm sorry I cannot enumerate the myriad inabilities from which you are unconsciously suffering, seeing as the list is endless. I'll name more, however; I never once reached orgasm every time you got around to fucking me. Now, how's your ego doing? Still alive? It hurts, I know, but it's the immutable truth. Nevertheless, improvement presents itself to the needy, always. A coffin is the solution. Think about it.

Septimo Espada._ Zomart Le Roux_. Because I am in no way daunted and intimidated by your size, likewise I'm not really interested in acquainting my hot self with the extents of your abilities. But, hey, I'm cocksure you're scared of Aizen-sama like all them losers, 10th-1st Espada (except the 6th). Read this: COCKSURE. So why should you earn my admiration? More importantly, _how_? Presently I have something which you may refer to as a fucking brilliant idea. It goes as such that you ought to drop off headfirst from the West Wing Tower while suppressing Reiatsu. After all, you go about hinting you're unbreakable and shit, so I might as well beg for a demonstration. If you break your neck in the process you can lay the blame to me, I promise. You know, many a fellow, morons specifically, have quite suspected you're the top Espada, which you are NOT. Duh. It's always been fucking Stark. Anyway, numbers are just numbers and you're just you and I'm just me UNLESS you convince me you're really something. With that, I might change ma mind. You can perhaps even impress me! Yeah, tower-jumping it is, or are you chickening out? Oh, well, I shouldn't expect much from someone who cowers away at Aizen's biddings, much less from someone who would refuse to jump off that fucking tower. Too bad, then. But you're not a coward, are you?

_Noitora Jiruga_, Quinto Espada. The notorious creep. Personally, and I mean no offense, I'm so sick of the harmonious yet non-stop repetitions of your verbal onslaught against the female species. So sick in fact that I literally and more than once tried to separate Halibel's head from her neck/boobs for your convenience and silence. And to think this annoyance overshadows my contempt for the fact that you almost ripped me in half right in front of my boyf—I mean—Kurosaki, it probably means it's about time for you to die, or at least for your mouth to. Going back to your obsession with Halibel, I beg you to trust me because she's not the catch. The real catch is Aizen-sama. Yep, Aizen-fucking-sama. The big fish. Proofs? How about I say I've been under his Hakama for I-can't-really-recall-how-many-times to possess the godly authority to tell you that he has no balls—literally!—which has consequently led me to conclude that he is in fact a 'she'. So that would make him, rather, _her_, the ultimate catch. I can see you growing too tempted now! Suddenly, ya wish to hack Aizen-sama's womanhood and the rest of her to nothingness. Well, best of luck with that. At any rate, I'll be cheering for you from here, as you plunge your shitty head closer to deat—rather—victory. Go, go go, Noitora, (strictly) self-proclaimed strongest Espada!

_Ulquiorra_…I'll save you for later. We have many words left unspoken to each other.

_Tia Halibel_. Tercera Espada. Are you just gonna let Noitora's verbal tirade go unchallenged? How can you stand this kind of oppression? Can't blame ya; that prick's a creep. Hey, I hope you're not taking this as anything serious, but you'd aid in the promotion of decency if you considered covering your tits instead of your teeth, ya know what I mean? Not that it bothers me. In any case, Quinto Espada is off to plot an ambush on you and it'll be ready-for-execution in five minutes. Are you reading this? Five fucking minutes! Now don't go welcoming death and choking on me. Fight back, goddammit! And while you're at it, kindly get yourself killed in the process too. I mean, you're NOT expecting me to rely on the chances of your menstruating to death because you've shown everyone the unlikelihood of that by bleeding for FOUR straight days without requiring the least of medical attention. So there, that would just get the bright sunshine smiling down on me and my respect for females would swell like your... glorious tits. Thanks in advance.

Segunda Espada_. Barragan Old Geezer_. There is something remarkable about you; it's most likely your...forgettable-ness. Why do I think so? Let's see, I'm sure I have the list somewhere…well, should you really be asking? Er, uhm, apparently, I've forgotten already. But I'm not fond of pretending. As a matter of fact, I've indeed noticed one thing about you. Aside from the remarkable count of your Fracciones, who assist you in your battle against senility, there's also your fondness to complaints. Nothing new about that, as life has always been harsh on dust-gathering ancients. Besides, life's a bore and everyone is a moron. For that, I can give you my ceaseless approval. My point? Do something about it, duh. More specifically, do something about your life! Go perform a Cero or some grand shit on yourself, or on your face to be precise, for a fucking change, and boom! Boredom gone, like a miracle; Old Geezer dead. May you rest in peace.

Primera Espada_. Coyote Stark_. Lemme ask you, do you abhor my hostile nature? Do you so much pray to the heavens, if only to have me kicking the bucket in no time flat? How about we reverse that shit and have you kick the bucket in no time flat instead? Kidding. But, jokes aside, would it make a difference if my presence went undetected by you forever? Or are you too fucking lazy to give a rat's ass and think about it? Continue being a couch potato like that and you'd be looming one hundred pounds overweight like Yammy soon. Don't go yapping about no one warning you later. But, hey, I sure wouldn't mind if you just suddenly collapsed out of something like cardiac arrest resulting from a total lack of exercise. I'll probably even thank you over the grave if you pulled that shit. Well, to hell with wishful thinking. I come with a wonderful message: I'm hitting the road for good. No more Mr. Rebel, Mr. Disturber of Your Slumber, Mr. Blabbermouth Jaggerjack; conclusively, no more me, all for the benefit of your round-the-clock pastime. So, with me gone, I hope to hell for Mr Sandman to go forever partying over your seemingly dead body, never to depart. Just get busy with your beloved dreams, sleep, nap, doze off, whatfuckingever and don't ever fucking wake up.

And last, _Ulquiorra Scheiffer_. I'll keep this short so don't faint. Those fake cosmetic paint tracing a flowing pattern on your cheeks are very expressive indeed. Bad news in-your-face style: they won't stay fake for long. Read this: I'm so over you. We are serious history, and do you know what they say about history? Past is past and there's no need to recollect them in any way, much less relive them. Know what pushed me to finalize this familiar tone of resignation? You. You wanna know about all the shit I went through trying to put up with you? Go figure. Honestly speaking, I must have acquired some terminal brain damage and am currently not in the condition to name all your horsing-around's. And be informed I have no plans of suing you for damages, so that just about testifies for my magnanimity. Perhaps you're jumping around like a fucking pogo stick upon the news of my departure. Perhaps the chilling prospect of your freedom from me is off to knock you unconscious. Perhaps you're off skipping your steps to Aizen's chamber, ready to commit every possible act of lasciviousness Perhaps I don't give a fuck anymore. Why? Because I've found someone else, someone who's a better kisser, a better lover, and, above all, a better fucker more deserving of my wondrous self. Someone who doesn't moan the name 'Aizen-sama' at the peak of pleasure in bed. In case you've lost count, sixty-eight out of the seventy times we've done it you went about panting like a horse, with his name exploding off your mouth. Screw you and to hell with you. This is goodbye. For all I fucking care, you can cry under your blankie to suffocate and drown to death in your tears. When that's done you'll find me NOT coming to your rescue because guess what? I'll probably be too occupied with my orange-haired Shinigami to lift a finger for you. But, despite all this, nothing quite dispels my amazement at all my prior disregard to our differences. While screwing you and getting screwed by you were fun, that I can never deny, there also was your solid, horrid jerkness! God! And now dumping you is perpetual bliss compared to everything we've had. To further that, rubbing this finally in your face is not just a fucking blast; it's fucking vengeance. Now I don't want to think anymore. I'm good to go. So long and don't ever come see me again, because in all likelihood you'll just get your heart busted to smithereens, which would suit me just fine. Well, as a final remark I'll be blunt here unlike what I did to the others; I hope you die of jealousy.

Signed,

_Grimmjow Jaggerjack _

**END**


End file.
